Dupe to no party, loves to pay
To worth like thine her grateful lay;
And in no venal verfe commend
The man of tafte, and Nature's friend!
OOK round the wide world, each profeffion you'll find
Hath something dishonest, which myft'ŕy they call ;
Each knave points another, at home is ftark blind,
Except but his own, there's a cheat in them all: When tax'd with imposture, the charge he'll evade; And, like Falstaff, pretend he but lives by his trade.
The hero, ambitious, (like Philip's great fon,
Who wept when he found no more mischief to do)
Ne'er scruples a neighbouring realm to o'er-run,
While flaughters and carnage his fabre imbrue :
Of rapine and murder the charge he'll evade;
For conqueft is glorious, and fighting his trade.
The ftatefman, who fteers by wife Machiavel's rules,
Is ne'er to be known by his tongue or his face;
They're traps by him us'd to catch credulous fools,
And breach of his promise he counts no difgrace:
But policy calls it, reproach to evade;
For flatt'ry's his province, cajoling his trade.
The priest will inftruct you this world to despise,
With all it's vain pomp, for a kingdom on high;
While earthly preferments are chiefly his prize,
And all his pursuits give his doctrine the lye : He'll plead you the gospel, your charge to evade : • The lab'rer's entitled to live by his trade.'
The lawyer, as oft on the wrong fide as right,
Who tortures for fee the true sense of the laws,
While black he by fophiftry proves to be white,
And falfhood and perjury lifts in his caufe;
With steady affurance all crimes will evade:
His client's his care, and he follows his trade.
The fons of Machaon, who thirfty for gold
The patient past cure vifit thrice in a day,
Write largely the Pharmacop league to uphold,
While poverty's left to diseases a prey,
Are held in repute for their glitt'ring parade;
Their practice is great, and they shine in their trade.
Since, then, in all ftations impofture is found,
No one of another can justly complain;
The coin he receives will pafs current around,
And where he is cozen'd he cozens again:
But I, who for Cheats this apology made,
Cheat myself by my rhyming, and ftarve by my trade.
BY THE RIGHT HON. MR. CHARLES FOX.
HERE the lovelieft expreffion to features is join'd
By Nature's most delicate pencil defign'd;
Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art,
Speak the softness and feeling that dwell in the heart;
Where in manners inchanting no blemish we trace,
But the foul keeps the promise we had from the face;
Sure philosophy, reason, and coldness, must prove
Defences unequal to shield us from love :
Then tell me, myfterious inchanter! O tell,
By what wonderful art, by what magical spell,
My heart is fo fenc'd, that for once I am wise,
And gaze without raptures on Amoret's eyes;
That my wishes, which never were bounded before,
Are here bounded by Friendship, and ask for no more.
Is't Reason? No; that my whole life will belye,
For who fo at variance as Reafon and I?
Is't Ambition that fills up each chink of my heart,
Nor allows any softer sensation a part?
Oh, no! for in this all the world must agree,
One folly was never fufficient for me.
Is my mind on distress too intensely employ'd,
Or by pleasure relax'd, by variety cloy'd?
For, alike in this only, enjoyment and pain,
Both flacken the springs of those nerves which they strain.
That I've felt each reverse that from fortune can flow,
That I've tafted each blifs that the happiest know,
Has ftill been the whimsical fate of my life,
Where Anguish and Joy have been ever at ftrife.
But tho' vers'd in th' extremes both of pleasure and pain, I am ftill but too ready to feel them again:
If, then, for this once in my life I am free,
And escape from a fnare might catch wiser than me;
"Tis, that beauty alone but imperfectly charms,
For tho' brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that warms:
As on funs in the winter with pleasure we gaze,
But feel not their warmth, tho' their fplendor we praise;
So beauty our juft admiration may claim,
But love, and love only, the heart can enflame.
ENUS, moft histories agree,
Sprung from the ferment of the fea;
Yet, I confefs, I'm always lothe
To think fuch beauty was but froth,
Or that the ocean, which more odd is,
Should from a bubble spawn a goddefs:
Tho' hence, my Laura, learned fellows
Of fuch it's wonderous powers ftill tell us,
That every mother brings her daughter
To dip in this fpecifick water,
Expecting from the briny wave
Charms which it once to Venus gave.
These charms, my Laura ftrive to gain;
And, that you may not bathe in vain,
I'll here, as well as I am able,
Give you a moral to this fable.
Would you a goddess reign o'er all,
From the wide flood it's virtues call.
3 N 2
Free from each ftain thy bofom keep,
Clear be it as this azure deep,
Which no capricious paffion knows,
But duly ebbs, and duly flows;
Tho' fometimes ruffled, calm'd as foon,
Still conftant to it's faithful moon,
At whofe approach with pride it fwells,
And to each fhore it's chafte love tells:
Heedless of ev'ry change of weather,
That wafts a straw, or coxcomb feather,
Which only on the surface play,
And unobferv'd are wash'd away.
Reflect, that lodg'd within it's breast,
The modeft pearl delights to reft,
While ev'ry gem to Neptune known,
Is there with partial bounty fown.
In years, thus ever may we trace
Each sparkling charm, each blushing grace;
To these let judgment value give,
And in that feat of beauty live!
This moral keep before your eyes;
Plunge and a new-born Venus rife.
APPY the babe, whofe natal hour
H The Mufe propitious deigns to grace;
No frowns on his foft forehead lour,
No cries diftort his tender face:
But o'er her child, forgetting all her pangs,
Infatiate of her fmiles, the raptur'd parent hangs,
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